When Poppies Grow
by HugeTractsOfLand
Summary: When a squib is sent to Hogwarts, she has no idea what she expects, but she most certainly doesn't get it.
1. Prologue

Hello! This story is very special to me, more so than most of the crap I've written, so I hope y'all enjoy it!

I don't own Harry Potter or any of its characters!

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><p><em>A Majority is always better than the best repartee. - Benjamin Disraeli<em>

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><p>The courtroom was positively buzzing that day. The entire Wizengamot had been coming in, day after day, to try suspected death eaters and snatchers, and nobody was focused this close to the hour-long break they would have for lunch. There was just one more group before the break, and according to the notes, this was the team that had worked with Greyback. If the suspects weren't total morons, they'd know to take the plea. They didn't look like morons. They had a certain scruffy dignity as each was shoved into a chair at the center of the courtroom. Only the girl looked scared when the chains on the chairs clanked ominously. The tall, Black wizard sitting where the Minister usually would cleared his throat.<p>

"Lachlan Scabior, Ivan Hornblower, Emil Froud and Poppy Parkinson, you each stand accused of joining forces to aid Voldemort's attempted rise to power, stooping to such measures as theft, murder, rape, kidnapping and torture, for profit.

"Hornblower, how do you plead?"

"Guilty," grunted the pale man at one end. Several members of the Wizengamot looked scandalized that the circles under his eyes were not just from lack of sleep, but from muggle makeup.

"Froud, how do you plead?"

"Guilty," said the oldest of the defendants. He looked like he was seeing something in the room invisible to everyone else, but he seemed sensible enough. He was certainly sane enough to be held responsible for his actions.

"Scabior, how do you plead?"

"Guilty," answered the third man. He had been looking at the last defendant to be called with a strangely soft expression; it was shocking to hear him answer so sneeringly to the auror in charge of the hearing. He, unlike the other two men, had clearly put a great deal of effort into his appearance His handsome face was clean shaven, his hair was clean and tied back, and he was wearing a well-cut suit with an atrociously flamboyant tie.

"Parkinson, how do you plead?"

The last defendant, an eighteen-year old girl with long black hair, didn't answer right away. She seemed to be struggling to find the right words. Most of the Wizengamot seemed to assume that she was trying to bring herself to take the plea, and that the hearing was almost over. Some even began to pack up and get ready to get lunch as soon as possible. Parkinson took one last look at her companion and gulped before saying,

"Not guilty."

"Not guilty?" repeated the Black auror, clearly surprised.

"No," Parkinson cleared her throat, "Not guilty." The ginger scribe for the day let out a deep laugh.

"But you traveled for months with a known snatcher team," said the Black wizard, "you said, in front of multiple witnesses, including you fellow defendants that you were a snatcher, you have a Dark Mark, and you were not only aware that there was a plot to kill Albus Dumbledore, you also played a large role in it!"

"And," added the scribe, "You are a blood relative to an extremely dangerous Death Eater whose actions led to the deaths of an unknown number of wizards and muggles alike, as well as the permanent loss of two aurors' minds!"

"Well, yeah… but I didn't do anything wrong!" insisted Parkinson.

"Then explain yourself," said the Black wizard.

"Are you sure? It's a long story."

"We have time." The room almost exploded. Any sympathy the members of the Wizengamot may have had for Parkinson vanished. She was no longer a tragic example of youth gone awry; she was now a Death Eater and a snatcher of the worst kind. One wizard amid the groans almost went horse screaming, "Dammit, Kinsgley!" at the top of his lungs. Parkinson shifted in her seat and cleared her throat over the din.

"I guess it all began the summer when I was fifteen…"

Parkinson began to tell about three years' worth of adventure, but in her mind she couldn't help but remember all the parts she wasn't telling: the strange friendship she had developed with the men now sitting next to her, all the nights with Lee, and the only time in her memory her mother held her like a child. For hours, she told watered-down versions of the most exciting three years of her life, which she could go over, in detail, for years to come.

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><p>Anyone who knows were I got Ivan and Emil's last names from gets a shout out next chapter!<p> 


	2. Chapter 1

One note about this story: It won't take place in the canon time period (first year in '91, second in '92, etc). I started out not even thinking about that, and I can't really make Poppy fit as well in the 90s.

If you can recognize anything, it's probably not mine.

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><p><em><strong>If at first the idea is not absurd, then there is no hope for it.<strong>_

_**-Albert Einstein**_

It did not seem like a particularly exciting day. There were clouds hanging ominously over Lestrange Manor, but the rain they were threatening had not yet fallen. Inside the manor, things were normal. Squeaky was performing her usual duties as the family house-elf, Pansy was completing her summer homework, and Poppy was trying to convince her parents to buy her a laptop.

"What's wrong with the com-pew-ter you have now?" asked Mr. Parkinson, taking great care to pronounce each syllable clearly. Despite his great stature, he almost shrank behind his wife sitting next to him, which was very common for him. He was a tall, burly man with what he liked to think was an impressive beard and the personality of a particularly emotional teddy bear.

"It's from like, 1997, daddy," they younger Parkinson said with obvious disdain, "It takes like three hours just to turn on!"

"You know the rules, Poppy," said Mrs. Parkinson. She was a tall, thin, breathtakingly beautiful woman with long, black hair and cold, black eyes. "We will only pay for your muggle devices if they are not absolutely necessary."

"But Mum, it _is_ necessary," objected Poppy, "such a slow computer is totally negatively affecting my schoolwork!"

"Your marks are high enough with an old computer," retorted Mrs. Parkinson. She was used to winning any argument she was engaged in, and this was not to be the first she didn't. Poppy must have realized this, because she quickly switched targets.

"They'd be higher if I had a decent computer! Daddy, don't you want me to do well in school so I can do well in the muggle world?"

"Well," Mr. Parkinson shifted uncomfortably. He would have suggested making some sort of arrangement when he was silenced by a glare from his wife and a noise coming from the fireplace. Before their eyes, a tall, intimidating man with a hooked nose appeared inside it.

"Mr. and Mrs. Parkinson," the man said as he stepped out of the fireplace and into the handsome sitting room.

"Get out." Mrs. Parkinson stood up, "Get the hell out of my house."

"I'm hurt," smirked the man, "after all, it hasn't been so long since you would join me and our mutual friends to –"

"Enough," Mrs. Parkinson almost shook with rage, "I will not tolerate talk of those times in my home!"

"Understandable, I'm sure." The man glanced at a photograph of Poppy, trying to hide in the frame, "Nevertheless, I did not come to discuss the old days. I am now here for young Miss Parkinson here."

"You can't have her!" Mr. Parkinson cried as he sprang up and grabbed his wand.

"You misunderstand me, my good man. You have, no doubt, heard the rumors of the Dark Lord's return to power. I can assure you that these rumors are true."

"You have the nerve, the presumption, the _gall_," spat Mrs. Parkinson, "to come to our home and threaten us?"

"You still misunderstand me. Here." Snape handed a familiar parchment envelope to Mr. Parkinson.

Mr. Parkinson nervously took opened the envelope and took out the letter. "What does it say?" demanded his wife.

"'Dear Mr. and Mrs. Parkinson,'" he read, "'as I am sure the two of you have heard, Vol… Volde… Well," he looked at his wife, "You Know Who has returned and is growing more powerful each day. I believe that due to your history with You Know Who in the past and your obvious refusal to aid him now that he has returned, he may come after your daughter, Poppy, who he may target regardless of your relationship with him, because she is a squib.

"'This may not be the case, but for safety's sake, I wish for Poppy to join her sister at Hogwarts at the start of term. This arrangement would not only help your daughter, but also the muggles who live near your home. If You Know Who comes for your ddaughter in her current environment, many muggle lives may be at stake, as would your own.

"'While at Hogwarts, Poppy will be treated like any student, with some exceptions:

"'Most students are sorted into their houses in their first year. Poppy will instead join the Slytherin house with her sister so she can transition more easily.

"' Poppy's teachers will be informed of her situation, and that she is not to attempt any spells, but they will be given the freedom to grade her in whatever manner they see fit. Poppy will also be taking whatever electives require the least amount of wandwork.

"'While the decision is still yours to make, I ask you to please think of your daughter, not your prejudices.

"'Enclosed, you will find a list of supplies that Poppy will need for Hogwarts. Professor Snape will take Poppy to Diagon Alley to purchase them.

"'Signed, Albus Dumbledore.'"

"I'll let you two think it over," said Snape, gesturing to the doorway.

"Don't you dare tell us what to do in our own home," growled Mrs. Parkinson, but she followed her husband out of the room.

"So," started Poppy after an awkward pause, "You teach Potions, right? I think my sister told me."

"Yes."

"So is it true, the rumor that you, you know…."

"Wanted to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

"Yeah."

"That doesn't concern you."

"That's not a no."

"No, it's an attempt to make you drop the topic."

"Okay. Jesus H. Christ."

"What?"

"Nothing."


	3. Chapter 2

If you can recognize anything in this story, it probably isn't mine.

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><p><strong><em>The quickest way to know a woman is to go shopping with her<em>**

**_-Marcelene Cox_**

The Parkinson twins, like most sisters, had an ever-changing relationship. They had bad days, full of screams and tears and slammed doors. They had good days, all laughter and shared secrets. When the girls were together, the good days were more common, but they were rarely together. For as long as either could remember, Poppy had learned with muggle children, while Pansy was taught by witches and wizards. Never before had they attended the same school, and Pansy wasn't sure what to expect.

"Poppy?" she whispered as she opened the door to her sister's room. Poppy remained very much asleep. Pansy crept into the room and continued to whisper her sister's name as she started to shake her, which made Poppy reach out a hand and smack her sister in the face. The impact and Pansy's muffled grunt woke her, but just barely.

"What?" asked Poppy.

"Scoot over. I need to talk to you." Poppy obliged and made room for Pansy, who climbed under the blankets. "Thanks. Poppy, what'll happen to us when you go to Hogwarts? What if we start to hate each other?"

"I hate you now," muttered Poppy as she tried to get comfortable again.

"And what about my friends? I know you love Blaise, and Draco and Crabbe and Goyle all like you fine, but there aren't many nice girls our age in Slytherin, and most other people in the school don't like me, and they might judge you for it, and—are you even listening?"

All she got as an answer was a light snore.

Severus Snape generally did not tolerate frivolity or complications. He was of the opinion that the easiest way to do something was generally the best way to do something. He was not looking forward to shopping with Poppy.

"I can't use Floo Powder."

"Of course you can."

"No, it won't work for me."

"Don't be ridiculous. Just get in."

"It won't be pretty."

"It doesn't have to be. Just get in."

Snape never enjoyed the Knight Bus. Poppy did. The speed, the cushy, mismatched armchairs, and especially all the strange characters amused her to no end, and Snape almost found himself smiling at her excitement. Almost.

The actual shopping was much of the same, but Poppy's charm wore off the potions master quickly. Her excitement became less and less amusing, and more and more exhausting.

"Professor Snape?"

"What?"

Could we please get some food? I'm really hungry."

"No. You can eat when you get home."

"But shouldn't I get used to eating at muggle places? I will be for the rest of my life, and you're my teacher; you should be preparing me for my future."

"You can do that on your own time."

"Please? I'm starving."

"No."

"So, how come you decided to be a teacher?" asked Poppy as she bit into her cheeseburger.

"It was all I aspired to be. This place really is filthy." The muggle behind the counter shot him a glare.

"Really? My mum told me she knew you at school, and she said you wanted to be a Death Eater for years before you graduated."

"That was far from my dream; it was merely an idea my friends and I had. Like I said, teaching is the career I really chose I enjoy honing talent," Snape watched Poppy as she looked at the ketchup dripping from her bun onto the counter, wiped it off with her finger and then licked it off that finger, "and I enjoy the challenge of a hopeless cause."

"And I'm a hopeless cause, am I?"

"That remains to be seen. You may have been born without ability, but I won't know if you're hopeless until I see you at work." Poppy's burger dripped ketchup again, this time onto her lap. "However, I do have my suspicions. For Merlin's sake, you have a plate."


	4. Chapter 3

If you recognize it, I probably don't own it.

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><p><strong><em>Everyone is better looking when they are smiling.<em>**

**_-Joe Harsel_**

One of the interesting things about trains is that no matter how well you plan, either the train will run late or you will. The Parkinsons were well aware of this on the morning of September first, but they had little interest or time to speculate on this evidence of the universe's rules. When they got onto Platform 9 ¾, they very nearly missed the train, and that was without Mr. Parkinson's teary, drawn out goodbyes. When the girls did manage to get onto the train, Pansy had to rush off to the prefects' compartment. Poppy was left alone, and very nervous, and _very _alone, but not for long.

"Hey, sexy," said a smooth voice as a pair of dark arms snaked around her waist, "come enjoy the ride with me." Poppy let out an ear-splitting shriek. She turned around to see a familiar face.

"Blaise!" she exclaimed, slapping his arm, "Don't _do _that!"

"Couldn't resist, love." Tall and handsome, Blaise chuckled, crinkling his eyes in a way that would make any girl who hadn't forced him to join her tea party for the first eight years of their life melt, "Anyway, come on. I found a compartment with room, and I don't think Draco will disturb the people in it."

"You don't want to sit with Draco?" the two started for the compartment.

"He doesn't want you to see your present yet."

"I get a present?"

"Yes, but that's all I'm saying." That was all Poppy needed. It didn't matter if it was the best gift in the world or complete crap, there's nothing people like more than getting stuff. As they went down the train, she could barely contain her excitement at the prospect of a present. When they did get to the compartment, she almost jigged in out of joy, but her trunk was too heavy.

"Let's get that out of the way," said a boy in the compartment, a black seventeen-year-old with dark dreadlocks and rather nice arms. He lifted Poppy's trunk and put it in the overhead rack. Poppy smiled and thanked him.

"Poppy," said Blaise, "this is Fred and George Weasley," Two identical ginger seventh years gave identical ginger smiles, "and you've just met Lee Jordan." The boy with dreadlocks smiled down at her.

"Hi," said Poppy. Lee pointed her to a seat next to him. Blaise sat across from her, next to Fred, or maybe George.

"Poppy, eh?" said George (probably), "Poppy what?"

"Parkinson," said Poppy, "I know, it totally sounds like a name from a muggle children's book, like Sally Smith of Tommy Thomson or something."

"Are you new here then?" asked Fred, or maybe George, "I've never heard of Hogwarts accepting transfer students, have you George?"

"Not at all, Fred."

"So are you new here?" Fred and George both looked at her expectantly.

"Well, yeah. I've been going to a muggle school, because I'm a squib, see?"

"A squib studying at Hogwarts? Said Fred, "That's one I've never heard before."

"Well it's supposed to be the safest place from You-Know-Who, yeah?"

"So your parents believe he's back?" asked George in a surprised voice.

"They know he is," said Poppy darkly.

"Yeah? How do—"

"So!" exclaimed Blaise, "you got anything new for me to see?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, loads," said Fred. He grabbed a canvas bag and started to dig through it.

"Fred and George are geniuses of practical jokes," Lee explained to Poppy, "And Zabini's been passing on the products to Slytherins. We three aren't the most popular down in the dungeons. We've shoved too many of their quidditch team into too many interesting spots."

"Personally, a lot of them act like little shits," said Fred, "but business is business and money is money. Here we go," he pulled out a pair of silver scissors with a pink ribbon tied around the blades. He raised a finger to his lips and, as George made sure the door was locked, untied the ribbon. All of a sudden, the scissors flew up and hovered in the air as if they were looking at each of them, then flew at Poppy. She let out shriek and ducked. They turned in midair and went for her again. Poppy leapt out of the way, but not until they cut off her long ponytail, hair tie and all. The boys started laughing as the scissors fell back to the ground with Poppy's hair. Fred was too busy howling with laughter to notice Poppy until she hit him the first time.

"What" _smack _"the"_ smack_ "hell"_ smack_ "do you think" _smack_ "you're doing?"

"Calm down!" said George, but he went quiet when she turned on him.

"And you!" _smack_ "You helped"_ smack_ "him" _smack_ "make it!" _smack_ "What the hell is wrong with you people?" She sat down in her own seat. "You can sell those, but I guarantee you, you're gonna get your customers killed. You never _ever_ mess with a girl's hair."

The twins didn't want to admit it, but the red marks on their faces just made Poppy's point seem all the more convincing.

"Look on the bright side," said Blaise, taking out his wand, "I can fix it."

"You can put it back?" asked Poppy hopefully.

"Oh, that would be fixing it?" Poppy didn't laugh. "Don't worry. I can't put it back, but I can at least make sure you look good."

Poppy wasn't happy, but she let Blaise trim her messy hair. For some minutes, she just sat there glaring at the seventh-years as Blaise turned the shaggy mess into a decently cute pixie cut. When he finished, her mood stayed the same until George offered her a piece of what he called Giggle Gum.

"Don't worry," he said, "it's just a cheering charm."

Poppy took the gum and for a second her glare intensified. Then the gum kicked in and they spent the rest of the train ride laughing and impersonating the teachers Poppy had yet to meet. By the time the train stopped and they climbed into a carriage to take them to school, the gum had lost its flavor and with it, its charm, but Poppy was actually enjoying herself she barely even noticed the strange creatures leading the carriage. She was far too busy having a good time to care.


	5. Chapter 4

**_Nothing would be more tiresome than eating and drinking if God had not made them a pleasure as well as a necessity. _**

**_~Voltaire_**

Draco had saved Poppy and Blaise a couple of seats, right across from Crabbe and Goyle, which made Poppy's, who was far too distracted by the Great Hall, life much easier. In her defense, she had never seen such an enchanted room, and there was a lot to be distracted by. One of the most distracting features of the Hall was the golden goblets and plates, which were, much to her chagrin, totally _empty_. Before she could ask when the hell she could eat, the doors to the hall opened and a tall, strict-looking witch came in, leading a group of eleven-year-olds into the Hall. The witch stopped in front of the table where the staff was seated and put down a stool and a frayed old hat. Poppy looked questioningly at Draco, but he just nodded towards the hat.

All of a sudden, a loud song rang through the hall. The hat was singing from a rip near the brim.

_In times of old when I was new_

_And Hogwarts barely started_

_The founders of our noble school_

_Thought never to be parted._

Poppy started to lose focus. Up at the staff table, an old wizard with a long silver beard and half-moon spectacles sitting dead center, almost certainly Professor Dumbledore, was staring at her. Even at a distance, she could see the blue of his eyes as he seemed to search her face, although for what it was not clear. Feeling horribly awkward, Poppy forced herself to watch the hat some more.

_So how could it have gone so wrong?_

_How could such friendships fail?_

_Why, I was there and so can tell_

_That whole, sorry tale._

Dumbledore was now politely watching the hat. However, down the side a bit was another teacher looking at Poppy. This one, a squat witch in a fluffy pink cardigan, who looked rather like a large toad did not look at Poppy like Dumbledore had, merely examining her for some unknown reason. Instead, she wore on her toadish face a look of pure loathing and disgust.

_The Houses that like pillars four,_

_Had once held up our school,_

_Now turned upon each other and,_

_Divided, sought to rule._

The witch kept glaring at Poppy. Other teachers were beginning to notice. One dirty-looking witch with frizzy hair gave Poppy a small smile as the hat continued singing. Snape looked at Poppy much like Dumbledore had, searching her face for something she didn't know she had. After the hat sang its final line, Poppy clapped with all the other students, and the toadish witch seemed to snap back into reality; she replaced the glare with a girlish smile.

The tall witch pulled out a long piece of parchment. Draco and Pansy, to appear ideal prefects, stayed silent while the rest of the Hall was preoccupied with discussing the hat's song. When the students did quiet down, the witch called out,

"Abercrombie, Euan."

A boy looking positively terrified left the throng of first-years and sat on the stool. The witch put on the hat. For a moment, the hall was silent. Then,

"_Gryffindor!"_ called out the hat. An explosion of noise came from one of the tables, while Euan Abercrombie scurried to it.

"Twitchy little thing, isn't he?" Draco commented as Adams, Zara went up to the hat.

"We weren't nearly as bad as that when we were first-years," replied Pansy. Hatori, Ethan actually tripped on his way to the Ravenclaw table. They continued evaluating the first-years until Moses, Annika was the first to join the Slytherin table amid overwhelming cheers. Annika sat down next to Crabbe, and almost immediately regretted her decision. Crabbe's attempt at a smile only seemed to make it worse.

"Hey," said Draco to Blaise. "Guess who the new prefects for Gryffindor are."

"Potter and Potter?" said Blaise as he politely clapped when Nelson, Aidan went to Gryffindor.

"Nope. Granger," Draco paused for dramatic effect, "and _Weasley_."

"What?" Nimmo, Moer joined Annika at the Slytherin table. Blaise leaned forward. "Why not Potter?"

"Potter breaks a lot of rules," grunted Crabbe.

"Yeah, but Weasley breaks as many, and Potter does better in class, _and_ he's Dumbledore's favorite," said Pansy, wrinkling her nose as if being favored by the headmaster was horribly unpleasant.

"Maybe Dumbledore and Potter had a falling out," Blaise suggested.

"No way," said Draco. "Not _perfect_ Potter with his_ perfect_ scar and his _perfect _Firebolt and his_ perfect_…"

"Draco—ow!" Goyle had kicked Poppy under the table. He shook his head to indicate that she should just let Draco continue with his rant. The others all started to pay more attention to the sorting. Poppy tried to, but by the time Rand, Killian joined the growing group of first years stuck next to Crabbe, she was distracted by the glaring witch once again. Never before had she seen such unprovoked fury.

"… And _perfect _Potter was the_ perfect_ champion last year," Draco went on as Zeller, Rose went to Hufflepuff, "because he's _perfect _Potter!" Draco looked around at the others expectantly.

"Yeah, I agree," said Crabbe, his voice totally void of interest.

Up at the front of the hall, Dumbledore was standing, and the students grew silent, all eyes on him.

"To all our newcomers," said Dumbledore, "welcome! To our old hands—welcome back! There is a time for speechmaking, but this is not it. Tuck in!"

Poppy joined in with the laughter and applause, but stopped once she noticed that the table was now positively sagging with food. She wasted no time in digging in.

Sitting next to Goyle was a girl who had been looking hopefully at him since before the sorting. She was now staring at Poppy devouring her lamb chops at an alarming rate. The girl looked as though she would be sick. Poppy noticed as she was reaching for another roll. She gulped the bite of lamb in her mouth down with some pumpkin juice, spilling a little on her skirt in the process.

"Are you okay?" Poppy choked out.

"Are you?" the girl asked as Poppy started buttering her roll. "That's a lot of food for one meal." Poppy bit into the roll.

"Wutchername?" she asked.

"What?"

"What's your name?" Poppy asked again after she swallowed.

"Tracey Davies. And—"

"Well, Tracey," Poppy said, loudly and rudely talking of Tracey, "I wouldn't worry about how much I eat if I were you. And no matter how much I do eat, boys will still like me, isn't that right Goyle?"

"Yes," grunted Goyle. Tracey turned to talk to the girl next to her, but not before Poppy could see her face redden.

"What did I agree to?" asked a very perplexed Goyle.

"Never you mind." Poppy went back to stuffing her face.

Finally everyone, even Poppy, had eaten all they could, and Dumbledore stood again.

"Well, now that we are all digesting another magnificent feast, I beg a few moments of your attention for the usual start-of-term notices," he said. At the table, the squat little witch was once again looking at Poppy.

"Hey," whispered Poppy. "Who's that woman in the cardigan?"

"Who, her?" Draco smirked. "That's Delores Umbridge. She works for the minister. We've had her over for dinner a few times."

"Then why is she here?" Dumbledore answered Poppy's question by announcing that Umbridge was the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. They all joined in with the polite applause for her and Professor Grubbly-Plank.

Dumbledore continued, "Tryouts for the house quidditch teams will take place on the—"

He broke off and looked at Umbridge, who was now looking over the whole hall.

"_Hem, hem_"


End file.
